Maxed Out 

It's a guy thing

Page 3 of 3

If my father were here I’d drag him out there for the day. Without actually thanking him out loud – I am a guy after all – I’d remind him how much fun we had on fishing trips in Arizona’s White Mountains. Undoubtedly I’d reminisce about one memorable ride home when a sudden rainstorm turned the mule trail-cum highway snaking down the Gila River gorge into something resembling a carnival ride. Water flowed at near the speed of the car. Mud and rocks were losing their hold on the hillside above. Thunder thundered and lightning lit.

I’m not sure what possessed me, sitting in the back seat, to choose that exact moment to blow up and pop my empty potato chip bag. But with both his hands gripping the steering wheel of our trusty station wagon and with his full attention straining to see the road through rain-streaked windows, I did. Loudly.

I don’t know if he thought a rock hit the car or a tire blew but I’m sure he saw our immediate future involve plummeting into the bottomless gorge below, our sun-bleached bones being discovered only years later. He may have soiled himself. Having been fishing for several days, no one would have known for sure.

It was one of those things that only becomes funny with the passage of time. And all I can say about it now is what I said at the time, "Good one, eh Dad?"

Happy Father’s Day.

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